


Wherein spec ops mechs are bored

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 19:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SpecOps Downtime. Jazz is bored. One thing leads to another.</p><p>Inspired by <a href="http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/11776.html?thread=12233216#t12233216">this prompt</a> on the transformers kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wherein spec ops mechs are bored

There is no such things as down time for special operations. Not even deep within the Ark and out of sight of any of Red Alerts cameras. Especially not for agents that have been so deeply undercover that they are constantly watching the shadows and acting the part.

Jazz smirks as his target catches on to his presence well before he gets near enough for their electromagnetic fields to come into contact. He's never sure whether it's a sign that he's getting sloppy or whether his agent is just that good.

The orange mech spins around optics scanning the room before they fix on the saboteur hiding in the shadows. “Boss?”

“You're free for a while aren't you Punch?” Of course, Jazz already knows the answer to that if one wants to be technical, he took his agents report this morning and assigned the leave form so that he could have some time to reorder his processor before he returns to the Decepticons. They won't notice him missing, not given their recent defeat.

Clearly considering the question, and it's various implications, Punch tilts his helm,. “I suppose I am.”

Jazz grins, an item pulled out of subspace and dangled on one finger faster than you can say Decepticon.

Punch stares at the dangling strip of woven metal filaments. “Usual safe call?” He waits for Jazz's nod before his smile stretches into a smirk. “Make me.” He taunts as his armour flares in a threat display against the smaller mech.

Amusement ripples around Jazz's field as he steps closer, both mechs circling, waiting for the right time to make the first move. They move almost in concert, Jazz trying to get a good hold as Punch tries to keep him away. A few rounds and Jazz lunges forwards.

Punch curses as his feet are knocked out from underneath his frame and he clatters to the ground, Jazz already squirming to get a good hold. He ignores the fingers curling into his hip, more worried about the hand around one of his own. Getting his legs around the smaller mech he flips them over, aiming to use his weight to hold Jazz in place. It would have been a good move if Jazz didn't slither out of the way, gathering the nearest arm and pushing it upwards.

Punch snarls as his arm is twisted up his back and he scrabbles for purchase on the smooth floor. But Jazz isn't head of the division for nothing, his hold strong and he manages to snap one side of a set of cuffs around the arm in his grasp, he is reaching for the other arm as Punch shifts, transforming in a flurry of moving parts and Jazz loses his grip. Counterpunch smirks as he regains use of both arms, his engine humming with the fight.

The blue visor brightens, amusement clear on Jazz's face. He had forgotten about that little trick. He smirks as Counterpunch shakes his arm, the spy would need more time without interruptions to pick the lock than Jazz is going to give.

The dark blue plating rattles in anticipation as he waits for Jazz to make his move. He's already at a disadvantage, the cuff is a stasis inducer and his arm from the elbow joint down is numb. That doesn't mean he's going to make it easy.

Jazz growls as he slams his weight into the heavier mech, hooking a foot around his ankle and pushing. Counterpunch wraps his working arm around the back of Jazz's helm, the fingers curling around the edge of his armour, aiming for his neck. He jerks backwards, out of reach as he plants a knee into Counterpunch's throat. It does the trick as the hand that had been aiming for him pulls back to try and protect his own vulnerable spot. From there it is easy enough to grab his other arm. With the stasis induction he doesn't notice until it is close enough to snap the second loose cuff around his other wrist.

Counterpunch curses as his other arm goes dead, then much of his upper frame turns sluggish as the stasis field expands. Jazz doesn't waste any time in flipping him over, planting himself on top of the blue mech when he tries to squirm away.

Latching the collar around the blue neck Jazz allows himself a smug smile. “You're not getting out now you know.” He says as Counterpunch twitches again, almost managing to throw him off, the blue mechs field flares with annoyance at being caught although there is a tightly controlled thread of lust and pleasure behind it.

It takes little effort to catch each foot, snapping cuffs around each ankle despite the flailing. The stasis field doing it's work well. Nor is it any trouble to clip the cuffs to a bar, forcing his legs apart. Threading a chain through the collar Jazz grins as he attaches one end to the bar, the other end he snaps around the wrist cuffs. Jazz smirks as the mech is forced to arch his back, his frame contorting as his limbs are pulled together. He reaches towards the cuffs, turning off the stasis field and stepping back. The blue mech goes from docile to thrashing in nanoseconds as he regains the use of his limbs. Or at least, he tries to. There isn't much slack in the chain and he can't do more than wriggle around, his armour rattling as he tests his bonds.

“There now. That's much better isn't it?” Jazz croons as he settles down onto his knees beside Counterpunch, his fingers teasing at the edges of armour panels, just barely dipping beneath them to directly stimulate the sensor net. Counterpunch growls, tugging at the restraints. Yet there is nothing to pull against. If he wanted to he can bring his arms forward over his helm, but only if he somehow breaks his spinal struts and bends his legs in a way they really shouldn't go. The same for the other way, straightening his legs works if he doesn't mind breaking his shoulders.

Jazz strokes a hand over the aft, his fans whirring as the mech it is attached to twitches, the chains rattling as he continues to struggle. “Open up for me.” His hand flutters over a dataport, prodding at the cover. The hip twitches as Counterpunch squirms. “Don't make me force it open.” Jazz purrs, pressing against the panel.

Counterpunch whines, the panel sliding aside and he hisses as Jazz plugs in, the connection flaring to life between them. “That's it. Relax. Stop fighting.” The words are whispered near his audial and transmitted through the link as talented fingers find every exposed sensor.

Jazz's engine rumbles as his words make Counterpunch's fans click onto a higher setting, but they don't stop his struggles. Hot air vents across Jazz's fingers as armour flares, trying to push hot air out and drag cooler air in to assist with internal fans and a liquid coolant system which just isn't coping.

Jazz yelps as a spark of static electricity discharges across his fingers as he strokes them directly against sensors. He pushes the fingers deeper, working his other hand into a seam, letting the building charge in his captive flicker across his armour, increasing his own rising charge.

Pleasure rolls across the link as Counterpunch lowers his outer firewalls and transmits his sensor data directly to Jazz. The saboteur shivers as he is suddenly feeling the tingle of his own sensors in each finger and the pressure and heat from Counterpunch's sensors beneath them. He lowers his own firewalls, sending the data back, letting it build in a loop, bouncing between them.

The spy yelps, twisting his frame as Jazz takes hold of him, trying to make him lose his grip. Jazz just tightens his hold, his fingers digging into sensitive seams as he rolls the blue mech over. Counterpunch snarls as he settles, his back arched over his bound arms and his legs bent underneath him. Not exactly the most comfortable position he's ever been in.

Jazz taps his interface panel, a grin spreading across his face when it doesn't open. That's not a problem, not when he's already connected. He's been in Counterpunch's processor enough to know his way around and it's easy enough to over-ride the coding, forcing the panel to open. A whine escapes the blue mech as he squirms at the cool air on his exposed interface array.

Jazz chuckles quietly as he lets him tug against the restraints for a while as he isolates another section of coding and over-rides it. Counterpunch abruptly stills as his optics flicker off, his venting picking up a notch. “Leave it alone.” Jazz says as he feels the mech poking at his own code to reactivate them. The spy huffs but obediently leaves them offline, his hips twitching as Jazz runs a finger over the entrance to his valve, his own engine kicking up a notch as the sensor data is transmitted back to him.

He opens his own panel, sheathing himself in his valve without any warning. Counterpunch lets out a snatch of binary and static, his frame arching as his hands claw at the floor. Jazz grins, slowly rocking his hips as he lets him adjust, the datalink feeding him a strange mix of pain that is pleasure that should be pain. 

Static flickers over their plating, discharging in small flashes from internal circuitry to try and ease the growing chargeas Jazz slowly thrusts, each rocking of his hips sheathing his spike as deep as it can go. Beneath him Counterpunch squirms, unable to escape, unable to force him to move, unable to do anything except take it. That only makes the heat build further, Jazz basking in the control he holds, Counterpunch still fighting the inevitable.

Control is at times an illusion and Jazz gleefully flings it away as he speeds up, heat burning his circuits as he thrusts, the feel of the valve, tight around his spike and the echoed data from the link, the feel of his spike stretching his spy's valve, the sensor data for every node on every small plate that is shifting and flexing. All of the data slowly taking over his active processing threads, shutting down more and more of his processing power as he focusses on the pleasure.

Overload burns across his circuits, a rush of power and heat, leaving a smell of scorched circuitry as he drags Counterpunch over the edge, the datalink bouncing the pleasure back and forth for a long moment before it fades, leaving them both strutless.

Jazz pushes himself upright, pulling out with a hiss before disconnecting their cables. The sudden loss of data input leaving him feeling like he is only half there as he rolls Counterpunch over, unclipping the chains so that he can stretch out. The spy stretches, letting cables held too long in one position settle back into place, his optics flashing back online as he reboots them. Jazz smirks before snuggling back into his side. They can get up in a minute. Just another minute.


End file.
